


ghost in your lungs

by palateens



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magical Realism, Self-Esteem Issues, Slow Build, Soft Love, Spells & Enchantments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-06-01 12:47:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15143405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palateens/pseuds/palateens
Summary: Storms don’t come easily in Las Vegas, and they rarely come without a witch’s intervention.





	ghost in your lungs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Alex (all_ivvant)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/all_ivvant/gifts).



> some soft witch feels for one rad friendo. hope you enjoy!

It’s July in Nevada. Miles and miles of clouds rapidly obscure the still waning sun. Wind rushes past the protective barrier surrounding their home. Kent hears the rustling of their shrubs and herb garden. The air smells wet and salty. Unnaturally bitter yet cleansing. He watches the sky as it grows restless and angry for a moment. Kent groans as he closes the book he was trying to read, tucking it under his armpit as he walks back into the house. He closes his eyes as he continues inside, feeling the energy and crackling in the air with every move he makes. 

His eyes snap open. It’s Jeff, he realizes. Storms don’t come easily in Las Vegas, and they rarely come without a witch’s intervention. 

Kent stops himself for shouting as soon as he closes the backyard door behind him. There’s no use in improperly interrupting Jeff’s spellwork when they hadn’t made plans to do anything this afternoon. Especially when the storm outside looks particularly energetic. 

The storm outside picks up in intensity. Thunder claps in the distance. Kent counts the seconds between the claps and streaks of lightning painting the sky. Seven seconds between each, it’s  unwaveringly consistent. Kent opens a window in the kitchen, inviting Jeff’s handiwork into their home. 

Lights in the kitchen stutter a bit. He draws a sigil on a post-it note, slapping it onto the fridge so the weather and it’s intentions keep peace within the space. Kent puts some spare vases outside to collect rainwater. He picks some lemongrass, anise, and basil. He thinks about covering the pool before he goes. The wind nudges him back inside, so he takes his leave. 

He feels it better the second time he walks in—the thrum of energy coming from the master suite. It radiates with passion and ambition. It flows in waves upwards and outwards, enveloping the entirety of the house with it’s intentions. 

Jeff’s magick finds the storm magick as it leaks in from the kitchen. Kent sits down at a safe distance. The two forces dance and intertwine. Jeff’s aura has always been a beautiful shade of yellow. Even when it bleeds with shades of tan and red, he remains grounded in yellow. He’s constantly seeping in energy, confidence and inspiration. 

It’s one of Kent’s favorite things about him. The way he chases the ideas that flicker through his psyche. Nothing makes Kent happier than finding Jeff on the astral plane and guiding him wherever his practice may lead them. Jeff has an abundance of spiritual guides, but he’s not the best at listening to them or falling directions. Kent likes being there for him in that way, providing the direction and language Jeff needs in order to receive the spiritual advice other beings are happy to give him. 

Jeff is a worker bee, Kent thinks. He toils away in every aspect of his life, whether it be physical, intellectual, or spiritual. He sinks his teeth into everything and anything he could possibly want to explore. Jeff takes the world in the palms of his two hands and searches restlessly for the next way to make it bigger, make it better...make it whole in a way no one could ever imagine. 

Kent tells Jeff he’s a visionary. Jeff always furrows his brows in response. He says Kent’s the true visionary. He whispers it softly every morning when they pull themselves out of their journeys on the astral plane. He tells Kent he’s brilliant and his aura is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Jeff says it like a mantra. Kent has to remind him not to get too worked up. It’s not like he’s a deity or lesser god or anything. He can’t make all of Jeff’s wishes come true. 

Kisses are like whispers of love from Jeff. They’re blips of wakeful intimacy in a world that isn’t totally ready for them yet. They’re stolen intentions and half formed spells. They’re Jeff’s only chance to take Kent’s breath away, but not his only chance to take Kent’s soul.

He took that long ago, with a simple glance and soft smile. 

If Jeff were a demon, Kent thinks he would’ve given up a thousand lifetimes just to see him again. He just...doesn’t know how they found each other at the right place, at the right time. 

The storm rages outside harder and harder. Kent closes his eyes, breathing in the smell of salt of fresh rain water, cleansing the vast desert outside them. Vegas is greener than it should be, but that doesn’t make it an oasis. There’s more than one way to be a desert, his mom always tells him. 

Some places are desolate of courage or empathy. Some are desolate of love. Las Vegas doesn't have a lot of self-love to go around. It’s a sickness, she tells him over the phone ever once in awhile. It’s easy to love an idea, or the idea of a person cobbled together out of someone’s wildest fantasies and insecurities. It’s hard to love oneself, she says. 

Nearly impossible to reconcile what could be with what is, and to learn to figure what’s left of a person’s old daydreams. 

“The hardest thing to cleanse is our own hearts,” Kent murmurs as the wind picks up. 

He lets Jeff’s magick and the storm wrap themselves around him. He knows Jeff would never let him get in harm's way, but he says a simple protection spell against ill intent to ground the storm further. 

Kent opens himself up to the moment, to the way Jeff wants to wrap him up and swallow him whole. Their magick mingles and dances. It isn’t a straight conversation like they would have face to face. It’s a ceremony, a private exchange. It’s emotions that speak louder than words. It’s Jeff beckoning Kent to let him in, coaxing him with every ounce of love and devotion possible. 

Kent’s lips part slightly. He feels Jeff physically move closer. Every step he takes is a jolt of vibrancy, surging harder than the summer rain he was so intent to cause. 

His aura is yellow for a reason. Jeff knows what he wants and will part mountains to get to it. That, and an ocean witch needs a good command of the sky. The desert is bereft of water, so Jeff brings it to them. Kent is bereft of self love, so Jeff seeks him out in the quiet moments. In every crevice of Kent’s mind and soul. It’s worth it to learn to give himself wholly to Jeff, he thinks. 

Only an ocean witch would know how to tend to a delicate ecosystem so masterfully. 

Kent feels the moment Jeff sits down in front of him. He leans in with bated breath, scowling slightly when Jeff chuckles against his lips. Jeff’s kisses are beyond the realm of human expectation. They’re soft yet passionate. They’re ferocious and fierce in their commitment. They promise the earth, life, love, and eternity. They promise to give Kent the entirety of Jeff’s soul once he’s ready to receive it. They’re more than Kent ever thought he deserved, wrapped in a simple gesture. 

They’re down right  _ magical _ . 

 

**Author's Note:**

> fic title - lyrics from _I'm not calling you a liar_ by Florence + the Machine


End file.
